


An Ode to Ferris Bueller

by distant_rose



Series: Little Pirates [11]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, clever kids being clever, emma is not amused in the slightest, fake sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 04:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11306013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distant_rose/pseuds/distant_rose
Summary: Emma and Killian’s second youngest son Westley is horribly sick…or is he?





	An Ode to Ferris Bueller

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been mulling around in my head for awhile. This weekend was a bit of a rough one for me and I finally got the creative juices flowing a little too late. This one actually based on not just Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, but also some shit I pulled when I was a kid. Expect a lot of Wes in the near future because he's been fueling a lot of muse and people have requested more of this strange child.
> 
> As always, thanks @welpthisishappening for letting me bounce this one off of you. You’re a gem and I am lost without you. All mistakes in this are mine because I am trash and don’t have a beta.
> 
> Comments, questions, concerns, enjoyed it? Come chat with me on tumblr @ distant-rose.tumblr.com

Emma was putting her earrings in when she heard the unmistakable sound of retching. She paused, taking a moment from her daily morning routine to make sure her ears had heard correctly. It continued, followed by the sound of something thick hitting toilet water. It was unmistakable. Someone was sick.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, immediately moving towards the kids’ bathroom to see who was throwing up. Mentally, she counted how many days she’s taken off for sick kids so far this year and whether or not she can afford to stay home. Winter had been a rough one in the Swan-Jones house and didn’t help that Neddy had pneumonia for week when he fell through ice while playing with his older brothers. Both her and Killian were still making up time for that incident, hence why she was managing all four children this morning on her own while Killian had already gone in early to the station in hopes of making up for lost hours.

She opened the bathroom door quietly and peered in to see Wes hunched over the toilet, groaning. He looked so small and pale under the fluorescent lights of the bathroom. His wild blonde hair was uncombed, making it look even more untamed than it usually did. Wes was also still in his sleepwear, flannel pajama bottoms and a black t-shirt that Emma was positive was actually Killian’s due to the fact that it was far too large and practically hanging off of his thin shoulders.

When he noticed he wasn’t alone, he looked up at Emma with the most pitiful expression, grayish brown vomit dribbling at the corner of his lips and oozing on the collar of his t-shirt. He was the epitome of miserable.

“Mom…” he croaked and Emma immediately crouched down beside him, stroking his hair back from his face. His blue eyes were wide and looked so full of pain. For a moment, Emma wondered if he was going to cry. “I don’t feel so good…”

Briefly, her fingers pressed against his forehead and she was mildly surprised to find that he was still on the cool side, no sweat or signs of fever. Perhaps he was suffering from a case of food poisoning. She panicked for a moment. Was her mother’s lamb dinner tainted? And if so, how long would it be before the entire family came down with sickness? God, she couldn’t handle four sick children and a sick Killian at the same time. It was just too much.

“You’re throwing up, huh kid?” Emma gently asked him.

Wes made no coherent response, he just whined pathetically. Not caring that he was covered in vomit, Emma tugged her son to her chest and placed a kiss on the crown of his head.

“Listen, why don’t you go back to bed, kid, and I’ll see what I can do about getting your grandpa to cover my shift so I can stay home with you, alright? Dad and I might be able to take smaller shifts so we can look after you,” She said softly, rubbing his back in small gentle circles.

Again, Wes didn’t verbally respond, just nodded his head against her shoulder and Emma’s heart squeezed at the sight of her normally clever and sarcastic eleven-year old reduced to grunts and groans. She never thought she would miss his outrageous verbosity and penchant for sass, but she would give anything in that moment to hear him make one of his signature witty remarks.

Gently, she nudged him off the floor of the bathroom and helped him back into his bed. He slumped against her, head lolling against her shoulder like a ragdoll. When she laid him in his bed, she tucked him in a thorough fashion that she hadn’t done since he had turned six-years old. Pulling the quilts up to his chin, Emma couldn’t help but place another kiss on her son’s forehead.

“Get some rest,” she said softly against his hair. “I’m going to make sure the rest of the crew gets to school and we will see about later.”

“Okay…” he whispered, nuzzling his head into the pillow and closing his eyes.

Emma gave him a soft smile and a quick pat before heading downstairs to make sure that none of her other little ones were ill. She found Harrison, Beth and Neddy all sitting around the kitchen table. Harrison was on his phone, most likely texting Neal about something or another. Beth was munching loudly on a piece of toast while Neddy was making a mess of his oatmeal, smashing bits of banana into it with an absurd amount of concentration. Emma let out a sigh of relief. No one else looked sick. Thank the Gods for small favors.

Harrison looked up from his phone for a moment, green eyes scanning over the kitchen. Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t find it because he frowned for a moment before turning his attention to his mother.

“Hey, where’s Wes? Don’t we need to leave in like twenty minutes? He needs to get down here if he wants the rest of the Captain Crunch. I’m not going to listen to him whine all day about how I didn’t give him a chance for a bowl,” Harrison commented with a small huff.

“Well, I would take the last of it if you want it, Har. Wes isn’t gonna want it. He’s sick,” Emma replied, pushing the box of Captain Crunch in front of her thirteen-year old.

Harrison and Beth both raised their eyebrows at her statement.

“Bullshit,” Beth fake-coughed into her fist before she scarfed down the rest of her toast in one ravenous bite.

“Elizabeth Alice, language!” Emma hissed, internally sighing at her daughter’s complete lack of manners. She had a feeling she was going to get another lecture from her mother about her daughter’s ill-bred behavior come next Sunday dinner. If she heard another word about how her children were supposed to behave, she would honestly scream.

“I second that though,” Harrison commented, pouring himself the last bit of sugary cereal. “He’s probably faking. I heard him complaining last night about something at school. A test or quiz, or whatever. Dollars to donuts, he’s faking you out.”

“Unless you can somehow fake puking, he’s not faking it,” Emma responded, frowning and placing her hands on her hips.

Sometimes she didn’t get the relationship between her kids. They could be incredibly supportive of one another at times while other times it seemed like World War Three was happening under her roof. She wished for her sanity that they could just decide if they were friends or foes so she knew how to handle them.

It was at that moment that Emma noticed her youngest son opening the refrigerator and pulling out a can of Diet Coke. It was the sound of the can being opened and the unmistakable hiss of pressure being relieved from its tin container that caught her attention. Emma’s eyes went wide in surprise. At four-years old, Neddy was not allowed to drink soda, let alone have it with breakfast. He didn’t normally break rules like this.

“Edward David Jones, you put that soda can back in the refrigerator where you find it or so help me, you will not have dessert or television privileges for a week,” Emma scolded him, immediately rushing over to take the can away from him.

Instead of heeding her words like he normally did, Neddy poured the coke into the nauseating mashup of banana and oatmeal. Immediately, Harrison and Beth blanched at the sight of it, both of their noses wrinkling in disgust. Emma would have found their identical expressions endearing if she wasn’t grossed out herself.

“That’s nasty, Neddy!” Harrison stated, pushing his bowl of Captain Crunch away from him. It was quite obvious that Neddy’s little concoction had stolen his appetite.

“I’m going to be sick,” Beth commented, bringing her hand up to her mouth and looking away from the odd mixture.

“You’re not going to be sick,” Neddy chirped, completely unperturbed with the reactions of his family. In fact, he was beaming with pride. “I’m going to be sick. Like Wes. So we can stay home and play together!”

At first, Emma thought Neddy meant that he was going to make himself sick by eating the disgusting blend of oatmeal, banana and coke, but then she realized the contents of the bowl looked…familiar. It looked nearly identical to the vomit that she had seen on Wes’s shirt this morning; practically the same color and consistency. It was too similar to be incidental. Her eyes immediately narrowed in realization.

“No one is going to be sick today,” she announced, picking up the bowl and tossing it and its entire contents into the trash can. Without another word, she made a beeline to the stairs. She and her son needed to have a little chat.

Instead of being asleep, Wes was reading a comic book and wearing a different t-shirt when Emma opened his door. He looked at her with wide eyes, the color draining from his face completely as he took note of her expression. He seemed to sense immediately that the jig was up. While staring him down, Emma reached over and grabbed the black t-shirt that was covered in fake vomit and gave it a firm, loud sniff. How did she not notice the lack of smell before? She gave it a tentative lick and her tongue identified oatmeal, banana and cotton almost immediately. She threw the t-shirt against the wall almost violently and let out a loud frustrated groan.

“Mom…” Wes’s voice wavered. He sounded genuinely terrified, as he should be.

Emma was not feeling sympathetic at the moment. She was too busy refraining from screaming aloud. She had nearly been conned by an eleven-year old punk. He had been so convincing and she had bought it hook, line and sinker. If Neddy hadn’t made the concoction before her eyes, he would have gotten away with it.

Taking a deep breath, Emma composed herself before turning her attention to her lying and definitely not-sick son. She brought her hands together and began to slow clap.

“What are you doing?” Wes asked, perplexed by her actions.

“Applauding you,” Emma replied with a sarcastic smile. “An act like that deserves an Academy Award or an Oscar or something. I’ve never given a damn about acting awards before, but then again, I didn’t know I had an accomplished actor for a son. You really had me going with the fake puke. Honestly, I genuinely believed it. So what are we trying to avoid today, Ferris? Math test? Spelling quiz? A project we forgot? All three?”

Wes didn’t answer her question, but he looked at her, his brows furrowed together in further confusion.

“Ferris?” he asked in confusion.

“Ferris, as in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. An eighties movie,” Emma clarified with a huff. “Honestly, I swear I should have named you after him instead of the Princess Bride. It would have been more fitting since you’re both very convincing con-men. You should give it a watch sometime.”

As soon as Emma said it, she regretted it. The last movie Wes should be watching was Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. It was bound to give him more ideas on how to be an accomplished delinquent. Lord knows how many times Emma had used tactics from that movie in order to pull off some of her shoplifting schemes with Neal back in the day.

“Huh,” Wes responded and already she could see the wheels turning in his head. She was a terrible mother.

“Get out of bed and get dressed, you’re going to school,” she hissed, jabbing a finger in the direction of his dresser before turning on her heel and heading back downstairs.

She did her best to ignore the very satisfied grins on Harrison and Beth’s face as well as the quiet high-five that they exchanged under the table. Emma was genuinely tempted to go back upstairs and take a sip of rum from Killian’s totally not secret stash in his bottom drawer.

The ride to school was more quiet than usual. Virtually no sound was made aside from Neddy who was listening to songs on Emma’s iPhone and singing the theme song from one of the numerous Winnie the Pooh shows. Wes was looking out the window of the car with a virtually permanent scowl on his face while his older siblings were still grinning, watching their brother with smug expressions.

Emma was still quite angry with both herself and her son when she dropped them in front of the building, and she didn’t get out of the car like she normally did to give them parting hugs and kisses. Instead, she gave them a brief verbal goodbye before driving off to the station.

Killian immediately sensed her bad mood when she arrived at work and gave her a concerned frown as he watched her hang up her jacket violently in frustration and toss her keys against the room, completely missing her desk. She didn’t bother to pick them up, just sat down in her chair and let out a loud groan.

“What’s wrong, love?” Killian asked, getting up from his own desk and crouching in front of her. He took one of her hands in his own and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I got completely conned by our kid,” she explained with a heavy sigh.

“Wes?” Killian asked, giving her hand another squeeze.

“Wes,” she confirmed, bringing her free hand up to massage her temples.

“He’s a wily one,” Killian commented lightly. “What did he do this time?”

“He pretended to be sick. Fake puke and everything. Very convincing. Totally would have gotten away with it, if Neddy didn’t reveal the trick. Oatmeal, bananas and coke. Where do they come up with this stuff?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, love,” Killian sighed. “Though, I can’t say I haven’t done something similar in the past. I used to eat bad fish and purposely get sick in order to keep from some grueling tasks when I was a child in Silver’s care. Perhaps, he gets it from me.”

“I don’t think it’s exclusively you,” Emma sighed. “I was the same. I used to fake sick like Ferris Bueller by licking my palms and pretending to have a stomach cramp so I didn’t have to go to school and would have the house to myself when I was in foster care.”

It was then that Emma’s cellphone rang. Emma took it out of her pocket and glanced briefly at the caller ID before groaning.

“I’m such a bad parent,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Storybrooke Elementary is calling. He probably brought the fake puke to school. I didn’t even check his bag!”

“Well, I guess we’re going to have to be checking backpacks for now on,” Killian replied before gesturing to her phone. “You should probably answer that.”

Emma merely shook her head in response before picking up the call and pressing her phone to her ear.

“This is Sheriff Swan,” she said tiredly.

“Sheriff Swan, hi, it’s Nurse Angelica from Storybrooke Elementary. I’m calling because your son Westley is unwell and I need you to pick him up.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Emma asked, rubbing her eyes.

“He’s unwell, Sheriff.”

“I get that. I’m asking how is he unwell? What’s wrong with him?” Emma couldn’t keep the irritation out of her tone. She felt slightly bad for this woman. It wasn’t her fault that her son was too awfully clever for his own good.

“Well, he doesn’t have a fever or anything, but he’s got a stomach cramp that’s painful enough that he’s moaning and wailing, the poor lamb. He also is quite clammy. He might be coming down with something contagious so we can’t keep him here. You have to pick him up, Sheriff.”

“I will be right there,” Emma sighed, clicking the end call button on her phone; not even bothering to give the woman a proper sign off.

“Fake vomit?” Killian asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Nope,” Emma replied with a snort. “Stomach cramp and clammy hands just like his mother.”

“I assume that they want you to pick him up so he doesn’t infect more people with his fake illness?” Killian asked with some amusement coloring his tone.

“Naturally.”

“Well, might as well go get the lad and bring him back here. I’m no healer, but I’m sure I can find a cure for this illness of his,” Killian smirked, his eyes lighting up as an idea popped into his head. Emma was struck by the expression. It reminded her very much of a similar face their son would have whenever he was plotting something.

Wes looked as convincingly ill as he did this morning when Emma arrived at the school to pick him up. She briskly signed him out in the front door, practically dragging him by the back of his shirt. She ignored the disapproving looks of the sectaries as she did so, pushing Wes in the bug a little rougher than necessary.

“Oh kid, drop the act, you’re not fooling me again,” Emma said sharply as she put the keys in the ignition.

Immediately the miserable expression was wiped away and her son looked completely normal albeit slightly pouting and disappointed.

“How do you even do that?” Emma asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

“I think ‘dead puppy’ on a loop,” he replied casually with a shrug.

“Clever,” she snorted. “So did you lick your palms, Ferris?”

“Yes and it was every bit as childish and effective as the movie said it would be,” Wes replied nonchalantly. “Thanks for that suggestion by the way. Can we actually watch the whole movie when we go home? It looked from what I saw on YouTube.”

“We’re not going home,” Emma replied, eyes trained on the road.

“What?” Wes squawked in surprise. “Why? Why aren’t we going home?”

“Because you’re not actually sick and I can’t afford to miss another day of work,” Emma snapped, finally at the end of her rope. “We’re going to the station. Your father came up with the perfect solution for your little illness. You’re going to be organizing the file room.”

“What? No! That room is trashed! It’s dirty and dusty! And it doesn’t have any windows!” Wes whined.

“Yep,” Emma replied, trying to keep from smiling. “And if you somehow manage to finish that, there’s at least thirty years of files in there that need to be put into the computer. We’ve been meaning to start a digital record for ages but we just haven’t had the time or energy…”

Wes groaned in response, burying his head in his hands.

“I should have stayed in school…”

“Sorry, can’t take you back, you’re contagious,” Emma chuckled and this time she allowed herself to smile.


End file.
